Foetal Song

The vehicle gives a lurch but seems

to know its destination.

In here, antique darkness, I guess at things.

Tremors of muscles communicate

secrets to me. I am nourished.

A surge of blood pounding sweet

blossoms my gentle head.

I am perfumed wax melted of holy candles

I am ready to be fingered and shaped.

This cave unfolds to my nudge, which

seems gentle but is hard as steel.

Coils of infinite steel are my secret.

Within this shadowless cave I am not confused

I think I am a fish, or a small seal.

I have an impulse to swim, but without

moving; she moves and I drift after…

I am a trout silent and gilled, a tiny seal

a slippery monster knowing all secrets.

She speaks to him and her words do not matter.

Marrow and oxygen matter eternally. They are mine.

Sometimes she walks on concrete, my vehicle,

sometimes on gravel, on grass, on the

blank worn tides of our floors at home.

She and he, months ago, decided not to kill me.

I rise and fall now like seaweed fleshed to fish, a surprise.

I am grateful.

I am waiting for my turn.

-Joyce Carol Oates

This entry was posted in children, family, motherhood, pregnancy. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Foetal Song

  1. antropologa says:

    You’re totally out now!

  2. erin says:


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